


A Fish In The Percolator

by zombified_queer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Post episode: s03e21 "The Die Is Cast"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 09:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14974343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Garak and Odo do breakfast and talk about Tain.





	A Fish In The Percolator

Breakfast on the Promenade was generally a low point in traffic. There were a number of species calibrated to a more nocturnal rhythm and most Terrans and Bajorans refused to be up at 0600 and some even loathed to be up that early, preferring to sleep in until 1200. Only the Replimat and Quark's ever really served morning meals, mostly for hungover couples and species with strange, nonsensical schedules.

But Garak and Odo, sitting across from one another on the second level of Quarks, watch the traffic of the Promenade: people going, people just arriving, couples here and there, a couple Bajorans headed to the Temple for early prayers and meditations.

"You were betraying Enabran Tain."

Garak stares at his Changeling companion. "Betray?"

"You never truly intended to hurt me."

"That's a bold assumption to make, Constable," Garak comments. But the image of Odo—Odo as a crippled, crumbling creature, sickly and dying—is burnt into his memory, superimposed over the healthy Constable staring at Garak. "But you are correct. I did not intend to do you any lasting damage, Constable."

Odo huffs, but there's no threat in the sound. Garak takes a sip of his raktajino, looking over the Changeling for any signs of injury, of illness. Either Odo is hiding it well or Garak's never done anything to truly physically injure him at all. 

"And you sought to betray Tain by refusing to hurt me."

"Constable?"

Odo hums.

"Why would a person be so fond of another?"

"He is you mentor." Odo folds his arms over his chest. "Isn't he?"

"No one nearly sacrifices themself in a fit of sentimentality over a mentor," Garak says, amused. "Try again, Odo."

Odo looks confused. Garak lets him puzzle through it, watching a Bolian and a Caitian, clinging to each other and speaking in hushed tones.

"Tain was equally sentimental," Garak says, not looking at Odo. "Or, I hope he was as sentimental."

"Are you . . . intimate friends?"

"Lovers? I would hope not." Garak can't help but smile at the almost repressed way the Changeling avoids any direct talk about sex. "No. A different kind of sentimental, Constable. Rose-tinted, perhaps, as the doctor is fond of saying."

"Family?"

Garak only smiles and sips his raktajino. He's never appreciated the strength of the Klingon drink, and the caffeine makes his hand shake. He only hopes his companion doesn't notice. 

"An uncle?"

"I called him that in my youth, yes," Garak says.

"And Mila?" Odo asks. "Is she another relative of yours?"

"My . . . mother," Garak admits, truly, if hesitantly, honest for the first time in his life.

"I see." And there is the glimmer of realization in Odo's face. "That's why she was so concerned."

"What mother wouldn't be if she hadn't heard from her only son in years and was perhaps lead to believe he was dead?"

Odo looks down, uncrossing his arms. He traces idle shapes on the surface of the table. "I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to apologize for, Odo."

Odo is quiet. He seems lost in thought and Garak doesn't disturb him. Garak simply finishes his drink, relishing in the warmth that spreads through him.

"He was your father."

"Odo?"

"Enabran Tain was your father," Odo says, locking eyes with Garak, "wasn't he?"

Garak considers every lie he could spin, considers Tolan and the lie that was Garak's life and one he'll probably take to his grave. He says nothing, a lie of omission still being a lie.

"I take it he was . . . less than the Cardassian ideal?" Odo approaches the topic gingerly.

Playfully and perhaps too quickly, Garak responds, "What would you know about ideal Cardassian parenting?"

"I assume it doesn't involve raising your young in a lab," Odo answers, "shocking them like a vole running a maze."

"Certainly not, Constable." It dawns on Garak slowly and fills his chest with ice. "Surely they didn't—"

"Doctor Mora Pol was also a less than ideal father," Odo says. "If the scientist involved in your training can be considered a father."

Garak shakes his head. "I don't think I would."

A barking laugh from a Klingon at one of the dabo wheels draws both their stares, the noise too loud and too early for either of their liking. 

"And you want to return home in hopes of finding that familiar affection."

"As much as you want to return to Cardassia to ensure the continued well-being of Mila."

Garak smiles. "I've enjoyed this little talk, Constable. I'm glad we're not as different as everyone assumes."

"Should we make this a recurring appointment?"

"Perhaps," Garak says. "But I'd prefer to do dinner. Breakfast is a bit early for my liking."

"I would enjoy more time to regenerate."

"Then it's settled. Until next week, Constable."


End file.
